


grounded and celestial

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: COUNTER/weight au, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 12:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: The Divine Samol finds (a gardener) (a mechanic) (a candidate) Fero.





	grounded and celestial

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based on [this fic I wrote](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017651/chapters/42864029) for the 2019 15 days of FatT, although you don't need to have read that to read this.
> 
> thanks to maddie, for betaing and for helping me find, as always, the heart of this fic
> 
> and thanks to annie, for the wonderful art of [Divine!Samol](https://twitter.com/dancynrew/status/1107053709748375552?s=09) and [Candidate!Fero](https://twitter.com/dancynrew/status/1107016515692298240?s=09)

 

Fero has always been alone. 

 

Or, no, that's not quite true, not since he landed in the forest on Archive to pick up supplies and came away with supplies and Lem King, the galaxy's most obvious stowaway. 

 

How Lem thought Fero wouldn't notice his muddy footprints through the ship or what his plan was after he left the planet, Fero still has no idea. He couldn't exactly take Lem back, he was too far away by the time he managed to coax Lem out of hiding, and anyway, he wasn't about to turn Lem over to whatever passed for law on Archive. 

 

So on they both went, and Fero got used to talking again, to having someone else on his little ship. 

 

He had been going to drop Lem off on Velas, a bright planet that was used as a central hub by powerful nations and trading fleets alike, but after travelling with Lem it was pretty clear that without someone with Lem, he'd get himself into danger more easily than he could breathe, and so Fero had to stay on the ground with him. 

 

It was a strange feeling, after so long drifting through space. He’d stopped places as he’d travelled of course, to refuel and get supplies, but that was different than  _ staying _ in a place. He’d forgotten how noisy other people were, how it itched at his skin when he could feel them staring at him, how it felt like everyone was so stuck in  _ their _ way of doing things-

 

And then the Divines came. 

 

\--

 

Samol has always been alone.

 

There are some people who believe that he created all the Divines that have come after him. Perhaps it’s true, in a way. He was the first, after all. He doesn’t think much of it now. The longer time goes on, the less it truly matters, to Samol at least. The Divines are here, now, and humans just have to figure out how they feel about that.

 

He doesn’t have a Candidate. He’s old enough that the humans have managed to accept that he goes without. They are not afraid of him like they are of some of the others, or not enough that they feel the need to use force. There have been some who have tried. They do not try any more, not out of fear but out of loneliness. Samol isn’t really one for talking unless he feels like it, and he doesn’t feel like it with strangers, leaving their voices to echo inside him unanswered.

 

He’s less impressive than some of the newer Divines, blasted from battles and left damaged, and that seems to dissuade some people. Samol doesn’t mind it, despite the ache it leaves behind. He’d rather not have people fuss over something they can’t truly fix.

 

He did have a Candidate, a long time ago. Two of them in fact, and their son, rambling around Samol’s cockpit when they were not in battle, filling the winding corridors that threaded through Samol’s body with laughter, making him a home.

 

It’s quiet, now.

 

They have their own Divines to pilot. It is strange, still, for Samol to think of them flying separately from one another, though he remembers their arguments, towards the end.

 

There were still a few things that they’d left behind, neither of them wanting to return in person and sending assistants in their place. Things were bound to be missed, and Samol kept them, still, the wires of his body winding around them, keeping them close.

 

An old toy, tangled in the wires of a corridor. A wine bottle left at the bottom of a ladder, rolling whenever Samol turns too fast. A plant, slowly growing from a seed in the pilot’s seat.

 

The last one feels more accidental that the others, but Samol doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t push it out as it begins to sprout. He watches it grow, changing the lighting in the cockpit to help coax it upwards. He almost wishes for human hands, to feel the new leaves on sensitive skin than he has never known.

 

The light has begun to flicker, of late. There’s not much he can do about it, so instead he focuses his attention to the small plant. Despite his best efforts, and although giving it some of his energy does help it, Samol knows it would still prefer the light. He can’t blame it for that.; it’s not meant to survive off the energy of a Divine any more than a human being is.

 

He’s slower than most Divines now, but it doesn’t matter. Space isn’t any smaller just because you travel faster through it. It stays as vast and dark and cold as it was when Samol came into being, the bright points of starlight as out of his reach as they ever were.

 

And then he lands on Velas, and there’s a star on the ground with him.

 

Or, not really a star, just something that feels like one in Samol’s awareness, sharp and fast and bright. Not a star then. More like laughter, bouncing through the air vents until it reaches Samol. He leans a little towards it, feeling like the plant leaning towards the flickering light.

 

The humans below make plans and draw their charts and Samol listens to them in silence, and keeps part of his awareness following the starlight down in the mechanics workshop.

 

After all, it’s not often he encounters something entirely new.

 

\--

 

Lem is twitchy, and impatient, and  _ entirely  _ too curious for his own good, so of course he heads straight to the Divines, and of course Fero trails after him. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t get himself in too much trouble, as he disastrously tries to romance one of the crew that’s working on Triste.

 

“I’d like to buy him flowers,” sighs Lem, “but there aren’t any.”

 

“You could try growing some,” says Fero.

 

“‘I could!” Lem’s face falls. “Oh, I don’t have any seeds…”

 

Fero hesitates for a moment. “I have some.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Sure,” says Fero, waving a hand, “somewhere. They’re sunflower seeds, I think. Or that’s what the guy I bought them off said they were.”

 

“Wouldn’t we need soil? And one of those lights?”

 

“Got that too,” says Fero.

 

Lem beams at him, and Fero remembers why it always feels so easy to want to help Lem King.

 

And then comes the  _ actual _ helping part, where Fero remembers why he usually regrets helping Lem King.

 

“I thought you said you had a light?”

 

“I do,” says Fero, “most of it. I just don’t have the bulb for it.”

 

Lem sighs, loudly. Fero glares at him.

 

“Look,” says Fero, “it’s not  _ hard _ , just go out and get a light bulb.”

 

Lem shifts on his feet. “Right. Of course. I’ll just… do that.”

 

It’s Fero’s turn to sigh loudly, because he knows Lem has zero credits, and Lem knows that Fero knows it.

 

“I’ll get it,” says Fero.

 

“Oh, well, if you insist,” says Lem. “I’ll stay here and get the soil ready.”

 

Fero snatches the seed packet from Lem’s hands. “Don’t. Do. Anything. I’ll be back in like ten minutes.”

 

He’s back in forty-five minutes, with a light bulb and a job offer, which seems like it’s a good idea if Lem’s going to keep them both sticking around.

 

Mechanic work isn’t so bad. It’s solitary, Fero likes making things, really, it’s what he’d be doing anyway. Plus, he managed to talk his way into taking the shifts very late at night, where no one around to see him make things for fun, or to do the fixes that he  _ knows _ work even if they aren’t written in some manual.

 

It’s quiet enough that it feels like being back in space again.

 

\--

 

Samol is almost surprised his speaker system still works. It’s been years since he’s had cause to use it. He calls out to the light down in the mechanics workshop, drawing it towards him.

 

He’s not usually one for satisfying his curiosity, but, then again, he’s not usually curious.

 

The light bounces up the various levels toward him, turning out not to be a living star but a short human, toolbox tucked under their arm. If anything, that is even stranger. Humans don’t usually burn so bright to Samol’s sensors.

 

He shifts, inside, making room in the corridors to let this human in.

 

\--

 

Almost no one is out on the facility floor as Fero follows the beeping sound, and the ones that are pay him no mind. The noise is small and crackly, with an urgency to it like a morning alarm clock. Fero keeps following it, closer and closer to the Divines, paying them little attention as he scrambles up the scaffolding beside one.

 

The one closest to the sound is taller than the other Divines, with long twisted arms spouting from its head, hanging down to cover where its shoulders would be. It looks different to the others even under Fero’s quick glance, twisting wires where the other Divines are all smooth plating. Scorch-marks streak across its side, and Fero is close enough on the scaffolding to see where the wires of the Divine’s body have burnt and fused together like an old scar.

 

It makes him think, a little, of his own patched up ship, rough landings repaired with whatever he could find. He could never really be bothered to hide the marks of it either.

 

He’s about half-way up before he gets to where the noise is coming from, and he frowns at the side of the Divine. He is, probably, supposed to tell someone about this. It almost certainly says that, in some list of rules or other. Fero bites his lip, leaning forward to put his ear against the thick, twisted wires that make up the Divine’s body, just to see if the sound is really coming from inside.

 

Fero jerks back in surprise as the Divine’s side opens, the thick wires that make up its body pulling back to reveal a dimly-lit corridor. Fero can still hear the noise, echoing through the Divine’s body.

 

He looks up at the Divine. It’s difficult to make out from half-way up, all long limbs sprouting from its head like a huge, wire willow tree. He looks back down at the hole in the side of the Divine. It’s shaped like a doorway, almost. A little smaller than a normal doorway, but Fero’s a little smaller than a normal person. Tentatively, he reaches out, touching the side of the doorway. The metal is cold under his hand, coarse to the touch, but it doesn’t move and no one from below yells at him to stop, so Fero pulls himself up further until he can climb in.

 

He’s never been much of a fan of rules anyway.

 

Fero takes a few tentative steps inside. “Hello?”

 

There’s no response, only the echoing noise of the alarm, fading as he walks further in. Fero hesitates for a moment before he keeps walking. He’s already climbed all the way up after all, so he figures he may as well keep going a little further, at least to see where the corridor goes.

 

He’s never been in a Divine before, and he’s always liked exploring new places.

 

The corridor leads him to a long ladder, purple paint worn off in places from use to reveal rusted metal underneath. There’s a light from the room at the top, not bright but not as dim as the corridor lighting. It seems as promising a direction as any.

 

When he reaches the top of the ladder, he finds himself in a small room, control panels half-covered by the thick cords of the walls, as though the room is sagging inwards. Dim light peaks in through the cleaner patches of the grime-streaked screen. It’s difficult to tell if the room has been damaged by a fight or just general disrepair. Two seats hang from the ceiling, swinging slightly. One has half-fallen, hanging by a single cord. Everything is covered by a layer of dust, making the air heavy.

 

There's a flickering light above the other pilot seat. As Fero gets closer, he can see what it's illuminating - a single, tiny shoot of new growth. It, at least, is not dusty, the small leaves bright enough to feel like a shout in the faded pilot’s seat. He reaches a finger out, and touches one of its tiny leaves. 

 

“Hello little guy,” says Fero, quietly, “what are you doing all the way up here?”

 

_ I could ask you the same question.  _

 

Fero’s head shoots up. He spins around but the room looks as empty as ever, although it’s hard to tell in the warped space. 

 

“Uh,” says Fero, “someone called for maintenance? That's me, hi, I'm maintenance.”

 

_ I thought you were Fero.  _

 

Fero laughs. “I'm that, too! So, what's your issue? This light?”

 

There's a pause.  _ Yes.  _

 

Fero hums, peering at the light a little. He goes up in his tiptoes, holding onto the metal ropes of the chair for support as he tries to get a better look.

 

“I think it’s just an old globe,” says Fero. He pauses. “I probably have a replacement down in the shop, if you want?”

 

_ That would be appreciated _ .

 

The mysterious voice isn’t forthcoming with anything else, so Fero shrugs and heads back down the strange winding corridor. He pauses at the entrance.

 

“I’ll, um. I’m coming back, okay?”

 

_ Alright _ , echoes the voice.

 

“Right,” mutters Fero.

 

He gets a couple of different globes from the workshop (he likes climbing but he doesn’t want to have to make that trip a dozen times) and, after a moment of consideration, a jar of potting mix he’s been saving and his canteen. Just in case the plant needs it.

 

He climbs up much more carefully with the bag on his shoulders, patting the side of the Divine as he makes his way inside.

 

He lays all the bulbs down carefully on the floor of the cockpit, looking up at the light for a moment. “Can you, uh, bring it down a bit? Whoever you are?”

 

The light slowly lowers closer.

 

“Thanks,” says Fero, “And could you turn off the light?”

 

The light obediently turns off.

 

“Thanks,” says Fero, and gets to work.

 

It’s a strange kind of light fitting, tangled wires like a hand gripping the old lightbulb tight, but it looks ordinary enough bulb once he gets it out. He wriggles his fingers over the array of bulbs he’s brought with him.

 

“I can replace it with one that’s basically the same, but if you’re trying to grow something I can put in the proper sort of light for that,” says Fero, “it won’t burn out as fast that way.”

 

There’s a pause.  _ I would prefer the plant light. _ Another pause.  _ I’ve gotten used to it keeping me company _ .

 

Fero laughs. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Oh! Speaking of, I brought this-” He pulls out the jar of soil. “I can put this in the seat if you want, so it has something to grow into that’s not wires.”

 

_ You may as well. It ain’t like I’ll have a use for the seat _ .

 

“How come?” asks Fero.

 

_ Don’t get along with most pilots. _

 

Fero laughs. “Me neither!” He pauses, his hands above the seat. “Is this okay?”

 

_ Go ahead _ .

 

He presses his hands in the old foam of the seat, pulling out the parts that have already broken apart under the seedling’s roots and clearing way for the jar of dirt. He carefully wriggles the jar into the hole, patting the dirt around the plant gently before he pours in a little water.

 

Fero gently brushes some stray soil from its leaves. “There! What’d you think?”

 

_ It looks much more comfortable like that _ .

 

Fero laughs. “You’re welcome!”

 

Fixing the light is easy - he holds out the bulb and the wires curl around it, drawing back up to its original height. It flickers on, purple-pink light illuminating the cockpit.

 

“Uh, thanks,” says Fero.

 

_ You’re welcome _ , says the voice, and Fero thinks he can hear them smiling.

 

\--

 

Fero is an odd little creature.

 

His first visit was strange in itself, but even stranger is that he comes back, more than once. He brings water for the plant and sweeps up the dirt he spilled on his first visit and talks all the while, managing to pull more words forth from Samol than he’s spoken in a decade.

 

That’s perhaps the strangest of all: that Samol starts to look forward to his visits. He can see Fero, sort of, when he’s not right in front of him. It feels as though it would be impossible to ignore the light bouncing around Velas as it heads back towards him and away again. Even when Fero is not there, Samol can feel the echoes of his laughter, vibrating through his winding corridors, sparking through the wires of his body.

 

Even so, there is something comforting in having Fero safe inside him, protected by all that Samol is as Fero putters around, chatting about Lem’s latest grand romantic gesture and the way Hella and Adaire are slowly fumbling their way towards a more quiet gesture of their own.

 

_ Do you ever want that for yourself _ ?

 

Fero pauses where he’s replacing some of the small LEDs on the cockpit switchboards. “Nah. Seems too complicated, and it’s like…” he waves a hand, “full of people not saying what they mean.”

 

Samol thinks back to the early days of Samothes and Samot, and the way they curled together, never quite of the same mind but enough to be warm, together in the cold of space. They were at odds with one another at the end, yes, but Samol has been thinking, lately, of the time before that, of shared smiles and the way their bodies would relax into one another, comfortable and warm.

 

_ Not always _ .

 

Fero makes a noncommittal sound, frowning as he slowly works out a bulb that has rusted in place, his fingers as careful and gentle with the metal fixture as he is with the small plant in the pilot’s seat.

 

“Do you?”

 

_ Do I what _ ?

 

“Do you miss-” Fero waves a hand again. Samol can see the faint flush on his cheeks. “-y’know. All that stuff.”

 

_ Sometimes _ .

 

Fero looks up quickly and then back down. “What d’you miss about it?”

 

_ The warmth of it _ , says Samol.

 

“Yeah,” says Fero, “I guess I get that. It must get cold all the way up here.”

 

_ Not as much, lately _ .

 

The flush on Fero’s cheeks deepens and he looks down, hands fiddling with his tools. Samol can feel the prickle of Fero’s smile on his wiring.

 

\--

 

It’s a little strange becoming friends with someone he can’t see, but somehow Fero manages it anyway. Climbing up the Divine is a little out of his way but it never feels like it, really. Not when it’s the most comfortable he’s ever felt while he’s stuck on the ground.

 

Maybe it’s because he’s so high up, the sounds of Velas fading as he walks through the winding corridors of the Divine, closer to the stars than he has been in months. Maybe it’s that, besides the mysterious voice, it doesn’t seem like anyone else is there.

 

Maybe it’s because the voice, whoever they are, laughs when Fero makes a joke and is serious when Fero does not. It’s nice, to have his words treated as though they have weight to them, as though he’s someone important instead of a Rosemerrow runaway.

 

It makes Fero smile, thinking about it out of nowhere during the day; bouncing on the balls of his feet as he counts down the hours until he can climb up to see them again. He stores little bits and pieces in between visits, things that might make life easier for them. The inside of the Divine is still looking pretty rough, but Fero’s working on it, despite the voice’s insistence that they’re fine without it.

 

Fero brandishes some slow-release fertiliser. “I figured it’s probably hard for you, whoever you are, to get this stuff.”

 

_ It is _ , says the voice. They pause.  _ Thank you _ .

 

“Hey, no problem,” says Fero, tipping a little onto the plant. “I think it’s grown since yesterday!”

 

He bends, squinting at the leaves. They’re an odd mix of purple and pale green, almost seeming silver in the light.

 

“I wonder what kind of plant it is.”

 

_ Something old _ .

 

Fero laughs, turning towards the broken pilot’s chair. “Yeah, probably.”

 

_ You really don’t have to bother with that, y’know _ .

 

Fero waves a hand, laying out his tools before he gets to work. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t have much else to do tonight.” He pauses. “Besides, maybe I want somewhere to sit while I’m here that’s not just the floor, it’s not just pilots that need to sit.”

 

_ Coulda brought yourself a seat. _

 

“Then you would have said I was cluttering up your cockpit,” says Fero.

 

The voice chuckles, the static taking on a warmth that Fero has come to think of as a kind of smile. He grins.

 

_ Suppose you’re right _ .

 

“Of course I’m right,” says Fero.

 

\----

 

For a Divine that is considered wise by humans, it takes Samol far too long to register what’s happening. In his defense, it’s been a long, long time since he’s had a Candidate.

 

He’s not sure what tips him over into  _ knowing _ \- the light of Fero is bouncing around the workshop far below like always, and Samol can hear him humming along to the old Severea song on the radio, the fuzzy sense of Fero’s emotions sliding along his wires in a way they absolutely shouldn’t be able to do but that fits so well into the twining metal that Samol cannot force it out.

 

Samol startles some of the people below him as he moves in surprise, his many fingers curling and flexing as he examines the thread of connection. He settles back into position, careful. He doesn’t want to cause any of the humans distress when they have the end of the world on their mind.

 

He looks at Fero more closely, letting Fero’s feelings and sensations seep into him. He’d forgotten how restful it could be, to get swept away in the thousand tiny waves of human emotion as Fero goes about his day. 

 

It’s a little startling to find how often Fero thinks of him, among the other ordinary things of his day. Pick up the order of parts that have come in, remind Lem about doing the dishes like he  _ said _ he would before his date, convince Emmanuel to give him extra bread out of the stores to give to Adaire to give to Hella, go see the Divine, water the plant, do the dishes, bed.

 

It’s strange to be so ordinary part of someone’s day. Samol thinks that, perhaps, he likes it.

 

\----

 

For Fero, it is an altogether different experience.

 

He’s putting together an order, half-thinking of everything he has to do before he can get back to fixing the chair in the Divine and then there’s a  _ rush _ and he feels a thousand feet tall and  _ exhausted _ and  _ powerful _ , and he stumbles a little, catching a hand on the side of the counter to steady himself.

 

“Whoa,” says Fero.

 

_ Apologies _ .

 

Fero flinches, spinning around. “How’d you get down here?”

 

_ I didn’t _ , says the voice,  _ I’m still the Divine _ .

 

“You… oh.” 

 

Fero’s mind whirls for a moment. He can feel the Divine’s static-smile buzzing at the back of his head. It feels more like something he overlooked, rather than a new sensation, like noticing the colour of someone’s eyes. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in. The workshop air tastes like the air in the cockpit. He can feel the Divine above him and he tilts his head up, basking in the warmth of it.

 

He feels them sigh, the sensation shuddering along Fero’s body, making his toes curl in his boots. He opens his eyes slowly. Everything looks so  _ bright _ , like switching from static security camera footage to that new Earthhome colour VR.

 

Fero swallows. “So. Which one are you?”

 

_ You don’t recognise me _ ? The Divine’s voice is a warm curl of amusement in the back of his mind.

 

Fero makes a face. “I’m not really a big history guy, I mean, I think I left Rosemerrow before we got to that bit.”

 

_ They do a bit more focusin’ on themselves down there from what I recall _ , says the Divine.

 

“Yeah!” says Fero, “I mean they’re-”

 

He can feel his own spike of emotion vibrating down their shared connection and back to him again, and he quickly reaches out to grip to side of the workbench to steady himself.

 

“Whoa.”

 

_ Sorry _ , says the Divine,  _ been a long time since I- well, it’s been awhile since I had a Candidate. Have to do a bit of filterin’ both ways. Might take me a minute to remember how _ .

 

“I don’t mind,” says Fero, “I mean, you don’t seem sick of me yet.”

 

_ It goes both ways _ , says the Divine _ , might be a little more than a human can handle _ .

 

“I’m tough!” says Fero, “I-”

 

He grips the workbench again, feeling the vibrations of his own emotions flow away from him and back again. They’re tinged with something on the return trip, concern and- something else, that feels too big for Fero to want to look directly at in this moment. He reaches out, touching at the threads of connection with his mind. They feel course to the touch, like twisting metal, like the body of the Divine.

 

_ Ain’t about toughness _ .  _ It’s about what the human body can take. _

 

“Well I’ll learn to,” says Fero, “then you won’t have to worry about me.”

 

The Divine chuckles.  _ I have a feeling I’ll be doin’ that regardless of how tough you get _ .

 

“Well then I’ll worry about you!” says Fero.

 

The Divine laughs again.

 

“It’s only fair!” says Fero.

 

_ I suppose it is _ , says the Divine, their voice still warmly amused.

 

Fero doesn’t mind that. The tone feels warm in the back of his mind, but even before he’d always liked that, that he could make this mysterious voice smile.

 

“Wait,” says Fero, “so what  _ is _ your name?”

 

There’s a pause and for a moment Fero’s stomach drops, because this always happens, he’ll be talking to someone and then he asks one too many questions and then there’s  _ yelling _ \- before a rush of warm reassurance is curling through him from the Divine. He lets out the breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, letting his grip on the workbench relax.

 

_ Samol _ , says the Divine.

 

“Samol,” says Fero, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Okay.”

 

_ Okay _ .

 

Fero leaves his shift early, climbing up towards the opening in Samol’s side as though in a dream. He trails a hand along the side of the winding corridor as he heads to the cockpit. It feels like he’s seeing it all for the first time, every wire sharp and new to his eyes. The cockpit feels huge, somehow, and Fero makes it over to the small plant before he goes to his knees. The plant’s leaves glitter in the low light.

 

He stays there for a long moment, breathing through the feeling of being a thousand feet tall and ancient and also four feet tall and himself.

 

“I thought Divines were only supposed to notice important people,” says Fero. His voice is hoarse.

 

_ Yes _ , says Samol, _ but we get to decide who those are. _

 

\----

 

Nothing changes, in a way. Fero still visits him each day, chattering and bringing in bits and pieces and fixing up this and that, little things Samol had forgotten were even broken. Only now, Samol can feel his joy as he works, Fero’s grin buzzing through his circuitry and back out into Fero again, making Fero laugh, glowing bright to Samol’s eyes.

 

Samol has spent his whole existance in the stars. It is a strange, new thing, to hold one inside his chest.

 

\----

 

Fero doesn’t tell anyone. He’s not sure what he would say, and also he strongly suspects it would immediately turn into some big  _ thing _ with everybody  _ fussing _ and insisting that he do things, or stop doing things, or act some different way.

 

He does feel a little bad for not telling Lem, but Lem can’t keep a secret to save his life, and it’s not as though it  _ means _ anything, really. He’s not doing anything differently. Except. Well.

 

Sometimes, now, he goes to sleep in Samol. Not always on purpose, sometimes he’s working late on some little repair or even just hanging out, talking to Samol and he’ll feel too tired to climb all that way back down. Sometimes, though, he does plan it, if he’s had a long day or a bad day or even just a regular day: something nice to look forward to when he gets to the end of it, to climb up into Samol and take a deep breath, feeling his muscles relax under the dim cockpit lights.

 

The spare pilot seat he put in is very comfortable, especially when he can feel Samol all around him, life buzzing through the wires under Fero’s hands, making the seat swing a little as Fero lets his eyes slip closed. It feels as close to flying through space as he’s ever got to on the ground. It feels like home.

 

\----

 

Of course, peace cannot last.

 

Alarms sound and the Divines stand straighter, readying for launch. There’s a scramble for pilots, of course there is. Samol hears some of them being assigned to him. There is no mention of Fero, and for a moment Samol feels a pulse of fear, more human than he has ever been.

 

Fero is heading to him a moment later, terrified and delighted in equal measure, pushing people out of the way as he heads towards Samol and vaulting up towards the opening in Samol’s side, ignoring the shouts of protest from below.

 

_ You’re not supposed to be here you know _ .

 

“When was I ever?” says Fero. “Besides, I’m not letting you go out there without me.”

 

_ I don’t need a pilot. _

 

“Good thing I’m not one,” says Fero.

 

Samol pauses.  _ Are you sure. It’ll be- _

 

“Dangerous? Yeah, I mean, I got that,” says Fero, “that means it’s dangerous for you, too.” He grips the pilot’s chair, white knuckled and full of absolute stubbornness.

 

If Samol had a heart, as humans understand it, it would feel very full. Perhaps he does have one, hidden away in a forgotten corner of himself, unused until Fero brought it back online.

 

_ We’ll go together, then. _

 

Fero nods. Samol initiates the launch sequence.

 

\----

 

Fero lets out a whoop of joy as they take off, away from Velas and back into the stars. He  was always told that Divines were unknowable beings, serious in their actions, but that's not true at all - he can feel Samol's delight as surely as his own.

 

They’re both  _ home _ .

 

That feeling is shaken, a little, as the explosions start happening.

 

Fero wasn’t lying, after all; he’s not a pilot. He is a mechanic though, and he does what he can, keeps Samol moving as fast as possible, keeping talking and encouraging Samol and shit-talking whoever it is they’re fighting and then- 

 

The explosion is so loud Fero can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Lights are flashing, a lot of them, and he’s sure that means alarms must be sounding but he can’t hear a thing.

 

His shoulder hurts so much he can barely move.

 

“Samol-!”

 

There’s an awful, shuddering, grating noise and Fero sees  _ white _ -

  
  
  
  
  
  


Fero wakes up in the medbay.

 

He sits up slowly, taking stock of the various aches of his body. He feels surprisingly okay everywhere except his shoulder, which throbs in time with his heartbeat.

 

“Fero?”

 

Fero turns slowly towards the voice, wincing as the movement makes the pain in his shoulder spike. It’s Lem, looking pale and exhausted, slumped in the chair next to Fero’s bed.

 

“Hi,” says Fero.

 

Lem jolts forward, wrapping his arms around Fero and holding him close. Fero blinks, then slides his arms around Lem’s sides, wincing a little as the movement sends another jolt of pain through his shoulder. Lem is shaking, a little. Fero pats his shoulder, and waits for the tremors to stop.

 

“What were you  _ thinking _ , getting in a  _ Divine _ ?” says Lem, leaning back, both hands on Fero’s shoulders, “You could have  _ died _ .”

 

“Samol wouldn’t have let me die,” says Fero.

 

“You- what-” splutters Lem, “Since where are you on first name basis with a  _ Divine _ ?”

 

Fero shrugs, wincing again at the movement of his shoulder. He pulls down his shirt a little to look at it. There’s an angry-looking bruise there, a deep purple-red patch fading to yellow around the outside, like he’s been punched.

 

“Where’s Samol?”

 

Lem blinks. “Getting repaired, I would think, he-”

 

“Repaired?” says Fero, “what happened?”

 

“He got hit,” says Lem, “he fell back to earth.”

 

“He got hit?” says Fero faintly.

 

Lem nods. “In the shoulder. Fero- what are you doing?” He puts a hand on Fero’s uninjured shoulder, pushing him back down. “You have to  _ rest _ Fero.”

 

Fero shakes him off, ignoring the spike of pain through his shoulder as he moves. “I have to see him.”

 

Lem makes a frustrated noise. “Fero-”

 

“ _ Lem _ ,” says Fero, “I have to see him.”

 

Lem lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I- okay. Okay. We- Okay. Let’s go.”

 

Fero grins. “Let’s go!”

 

Lem helps him pull a coat on over his pyjamas, and thankfully doesn’t say anything when Fero leans on him as they walk. Fero feels tense, a coiled wire, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to move  _ faster _ even as his legs protest.

 

They stumble to a stop outside the hanger bay, peering around the corner and then- it’s as though there’s no air in the room. Fero grabs Lem’s shoulder.

 

People are crawling all over the scaffolding, sparks of light spraying off as they try to fix shoulder joint and torn cords and Samol’s  _ hurt _ , Fero can feel that he’s been  _ hurt _ .

 

He must make some kind of sound, because Lem turns towards him. It must be loud, because so do several other people.

 

Fero ignores them, pulling out of Lem’s grip and breaking into the closest thing he can do to a run towards Samol, ducking under people’s grip and twisting around them to get closer, feeling his sore muscles protest further at the motion.

 

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he reaches the scaffolding, gripping the material of Fero’s jacket so he can’t twist himself free. Fero opens his mouth to yell at them, whoever they are, to get the hell out of his  _ way _ -

 

And then the person is stepping backwards, hurriedly, tripping over their own feet, and Fero doesn’t have too much time to wonder about that as one of Samol’s arm arms comes down, palm up, the curved wire fingers tilted towards him.

 

Fero laughs and steps onto Samol’s palm. He rests a cheek on the rough wire as Samol lifts him upwards, an opening appearing near the cockpit and then vanishing again after Fero steps inside. He leans back against the sagging wall, feeling the thrum of the wires at his back, taking a deep breath in and out.

 

“Hi,” says Fero.

 

_ Hello Fero _ , says Samol,  _ you should be resting _ .

 

“I am resting,” says Fero.

 

_ You were running _ .

 

“Yeah, okay, but only so I could get to a place  _ for _ resting.” Fero pauses. “I think I’m probably in trouble actually.”

 

_ I’ll discuss it with them _ .

 

Fero huffs a laugh. “I don’t think that would help, I mean… I don’t think they want me as a Candidate.”

 

_ It doesn’t matter who they want as my Candidate. _

 

Fero hums, lump in his throat at Samol’s words. He peers around the cockpit, taking note of what survived the battle intact. He takes a step away from the wall.

 

“Hey, the plant survived!”

 

It looks a little dusty but no worse for wear. Fero wishes he had a canteen to give it a little water. He brushes off the leaves, hands shaking a little.

 

_ You should sit. You’re hurt _ .

 

“So are you!” says Fero, but he does sit, in the miraculously still intact pilot’s chair.

 

He can feel his muscles relax, leaning back in the chair and letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. He lifts a hand, running it along the wall closest to him.

 

“You got hurt, too,” says Fero again, softly.

 

_ I’ll be fine _ , says Samol,  _ It’ll take more than a little cannon fire to take me down. _

 

Fero keeps his hand on the wall, running his fingers along the wires. “Still. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

 

_ I don’t like that you got hurt either. _

 

“You couldn’t have stopped me from coming,” says Fero, grinning.

 

Samol laughs.  _ You’re not wrong about that. You’re a stubborn one for sure _ .

 

“Almost as stubborn as you,” says Fero.

 

_ Must be why I like you so much _ .

 

Warmth blooms through Fero at Samol’s words and he laughs, relaxing back further into the chair, his fingertips still brushing against the wall as the chair swinging slightly.

 

His muscles still ache, his shoulder still throbs, but it’s a distant feeling now, buried under the warm safety of Samol’s presence. Fero sighs, wriggling a little to get more comfortable. He almost misses Samol’s next words, they’re so quiet.

 

_ It’s too soon to lose you _ .

 

Fero looks up. There’s nothing above him but the curved roof of the cockpit, the remaining lights dimmed to what Fero has come to think of as their night setting.

 

“You’re not going to lose me,” says Fero, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

_ You might not always get a say in that. _

 

Fero’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t have the words how he feels so he pushes the feelings towards Samol - all the things he wants to talk to Samol about, all the small, everyday things, all his faith and hope and  _ love _ . The room shakes for a moment, wires humming with it and then a pulse comes back from Samol, and Fero’s toes curl with the sensation of a Divine coursing through him.

 

As the feeling fades Fero reaches out to it, curling around it, keeping it close. He can feel Samol reach back into him, curling around him in turn. He arches, physical motion for the first time, reaching out to grab at the wall. The chair swings with the movement, Fero’s toes barely brushing the floor.

 

Samol hums, the sound of the wires melding with his voice, echoing in the room, in Fero’s head. A spike goes through him not of pain but of  _ heat _ , sinking into his belly. He gasps.

 

_ Fero _ , says Samol,  _ My Fero. _

 

“Samol…” whispers Fero. “My Samol.”

 

He grips the wire of the wall tight with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the seat. He can still feel Samol curled around him, through him. Samol is the room he’s in and the chair underneath him and the air around him, guiding the hand not on the wall to slide slowly up his thigh.

 

Fero groans as he cups himself through the fabric, biting his lip as the physical side of the sensation meshes with the sensation Samol brings. The chair rocks back and forth, aiding his movement, until Fero makes a frustrated sound and pushes his hand roughly inside his loose pyjama pants.

 

Samol chuckles, the sounds buzzing in the back of Fero’s head.

 

_ Slowly _ , says Samol, his voice warm, sinking into Fero’s limbs,  _ We got time _ .

 

Fero whines, slowing his hand as much as he can bear to. His nails dig into the wires of the wall, and he squeezes his eyes shut, panting as sensation builds. He works two fingers inside himself, groaning loudly, the sound echoing back to him. He can feel Samol’s pleased hum, the way he’s diverting more focus to Fero from his exterior sensors.

 

There’s a sensation like he’s sinking, like the chair is lowering, the wires that make up the room, that make up  _ Samol _ , tightening, until the rest of the room disappears, until it’s just the Fero and Samol, the chair rocking back and forth with Fero's motions until there’s not even the space of that, until it’s just him and Samol, and Samol is everywhere and Samol is every _ thing _ -

 

\----

 

Samol lets Fero comes back to himself, slowly raising the lights back up to their normal levels. He takes careful note of the flush on Fero’s cheeks, the small drop of sweat running down Fero’s neck. Samol traces the sight, letting Fero feel his focus through their connection. Fero shivers, turning in the chair to face the wall and running a hand down the wires.

 

Samol doesn’t feel it, not like Fero does, but he can feel the intention behind Fero’s touch, the warmth of it.

 

It’s an embrace, of a sort.

 

\----

 

“So what do we do now?” asks Fero.

 

_ You should probably go back to the medbay _ .

 

Fero makes a face. “Yeah, I know, I will, I meant more like- After that, after we both get patched up, what do you want to do?”

 

_ You don’t want to stay here _ ?

 

Fero kicks his feet back and forth. “Nah. And you don’t either.”

 

Samol gives a static-warm chuckle.  _ I’ve already seen quite a bit of the galaxy. _

 

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen it with me,” says Fero.

 

_ That is true _ , says Samol thoughtfully. 

 

“And there’s gotta be  _ something _ you haven’t seen,” continues Fero, “the galaxy’s a big place.”

 

Samol casts his awareness upwards to the distant stars above Velas. For the first time in a long time that feels as though it might be true.

 

_ When you’re fully healed _ .

 

Fero grins, delighted, and begins describing the routes they can take, the plants Samol’s sure to like.

 

“Trees almost as big as you!” says Fero, “We’ll have to go there, obviously-”

 

_ Obviously _ , says Samol.

 

The galaxy looms large above them, but the points of distant starlight have never felt closer.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
